


On the Rooftops

by annataZ



Category: Daredevil (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 18:29:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annataZ/pseuds/annataZ





	On the Rooftops

One misstep is all it takes, one brief second of distraction and his heel slipping on a loose piece of gravel, and then the Punisher's fist is meeting his cheekbone and snapping his head around. Matt staggers backwards a mere half-step, but Frank is already pressing in close, using the bulk of his body to minimize Matt's range of motion. A sharp jabbing motion with the ends of his billy clubs in Frank's stomach have little to no effect, and when a heavily-booted foot cracks painfully into his knee, Matt drops into a defensive crouch, taking a brief moment to reflect on how lucky he is that it's Frank Castle he's fighting when he's having this much trouble focusing, and how sad it is, really, that he's actually thinking it's a good thing that the Punisher is punching him on the rooftop of an apartment building in Hell's Kitchen. But really, if it were anyone else, there would be a chance that he wouldn't be walking away from this fight. At least Castle wasn't actively trying to kill him. Usually.

But too many sleepless nights, and one long, drawn-out case have left him drained and unfocused and irritable and maybe even a little bit vulnerable, if the new bruise on his cheek is any indication. He'd been defending a woman who had been accused of stabbing her husband when he'd come home one night drunk and violent, but what should have been an open-and-shut self defense case- with witnesses and photographic evidence of the injuries inflicted by the drunken man- had carried on for more than a week before the woman had been exonerated. He'd left the courtroom victorious but drained, and with a dull headache pressing in from his temples. There was a bitter taste left in his mouth. The case may have been won, but the fight was a tough one.

When he opened the door to leave the courtroom, there had been a crowd of reporters and cameramen clamoring excitedly about another case taking place in the courthouse that day- Johnny Lawrence, drug dealer, and now accused murderer. The trial was drawing to a close, and the news crews were giving minute-by-minute updates on the story. Matt had known, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, that the man would be set free. The man had too many connections- and too much money- for any other outcome. And he'd been right. He'd barely had time to get home and take an aspirin or three for his worsening headache before the radio had announced a verdict in favor of one Mr. J. Lawrence.

And now here he is, Daredevil, high above the streets of Hell's Kitchen, looking for the guilty man who managed to escape his sentencing. And here's the Punisher, high above the streets of Hell's Kitchen, looking for- no, hunting- the same man. Then there's the punching. Frank's fist catches him in the mouth, and he feels his lip split, tastes blood on his tongue, like salt and old pennies.

The air conditioning units on the roof are old, and one of them has a fan that catches on every turn, with a horrible metallic screeching that distorts the sonic images that he's getting. He barely misses blocking the next punch, this one aimed at his throat, and he pivots, bringing the heel of his foot up to connect with Castle's elbow, following it up with another heel-kick to the gut. He feels a small burst of satisfaction when Frank huffs out a pained breath. He may be off his game tonight, but that doesn't mean that he's actually helpless.

If anything, the longer this fight is continuing, the easier it's becoming. Muscle memory is kicking in, his body running on instinct, and some of the tension is beginning to melt from his back. It would be almost enjoyable if this was just a friendly sparring session, but it hurts way too much for that. Castle has fists like concrete, and he's not going to hold back on Matt's account. Matt's not sure Frank even knows what friendly sparring is.

A hard blow to his shoulder makes his fingertips go numb, and he moves to block Castle's follow-up punch with his forearm, knowing even as he does it that it's a mistake. The move leaves his lower body almost completely open, he's off-balance, and Frank sweeps his feet out from under him. His knee, the one that had received a hard kick earlier, gives out, and he slams into the ground, landing on his chest with a short grunt of pain. The blood from his split lip drips onto the asphalt. The taste of it is so heavy in his mouth that it's nauseating, and he spits awkwardly. Then Frank is pressing heavy on his back , pinning him to the roof and pressing the air from his lungs. Matt's cheek scrapes across the asphalt as he tries to free himself.

If it were anyone else, he could have broken the hold in seconds, but this is Frank Castle, this is the Punisher, and the man knows fighting. The man is practically fighting personified. He knows how to use his larger size to keep Matt pinned, how to use his wider arm span to keep Matt from moving his limbs. He has all the leverage here, and no matter how hard he tries, Matt can't move anything but his feet. He kicks helplessly, digging his toes into the rooftop and trying to shift Castle's weight, but it doesn't work. The ground smells overwhelmingly of stale piss and hot tar, so strong that he can almost taste it in his throat, and he can't get enough air because Frank's weight is compressing his chest. He's half coughing and half gagging on the smells and trying to arch his back to give his lungs room to expand, and then Frank pulls back just enough for him to gasp in a huge breath.

'Castle,' he rasps out, the first words since they'd started fighting- Frank isn't much for talking at any time, really- 'what are yo-...' He cuts off, coughing, as Frank presses him back against the roof, resting his full weight against Matt's back.

'Johnny Lawrence,' Castle grits out, his breath hot against Matt's ear, 'killed two women, and then they let him walk. You're not stopping me this time. He sold drugs to children, Murdock.'

'That's-' a harsh breath- 'not how it works, Castle.' He coughs again and Frank pushes himself onto his forearms, giving Matt enough room to shift his upper body for better airflow. 'You don't get to kill him. I won't let you kill him.' He feels Frank moving against his back, the muscles in his stomach tightening as he prepares to push himself up and away from Matt's back, and when the position is right, he throws his head back until the back of his skull meets the other man's nose with a crunch.

Frank curses, pulling back and spinning Matt picking Matt halfway off the ground only to slam him down hard on his back, forearm hard across his throat. Matt is starting to get very tired of not being able to breathe properly, and he would mention that, but the spike in Castle's heartbeat is, quite frankly, alarming. Frank's nose is bleeding, drops of blood dripping down onto Matt's cheek. He manages to bring his knee up into Frank's thigh, but the blow has hardly any leverage behind it, and he hears Frank make a noise that's part amusement and mostly pain. He wonders if he's actually broken Castle's nose, and feels maybe a little guilty, but then Frank's KA-BAR fighting utility knife is pressed point-first against his throat and he wonders if Castle is going to actually stab him in exchange for the headbutt. It doesn't seem like a fair trade at all.

But then the arm across his neck is gone and the the knife is cutting open the fabric of his outfit and Frank's lips are pressed to the hollow of Matt's throat. And, well, that's not exactly what he expected, and now Frank's blood-slicked mouth is moving up the side of his neck. Matt's hands are free now, he should be pushing him away, not curling his fingers through Frank's hair and pulling him closer. He can smell him, sweat and blood and cordite and the clean, vaguely citrus tang of the oil he uses to clean his guns overlaying it all.

'What is this, Castle? Does pain turn you on or something?'

Frank's breath is warm on his neck, and he huffs out a laugh, hip lips and tongue dipping into the space where neck meets shoulder, and then there are teeth, a sharp pressure that almost hurts. Frank pulls his mouth away.

'No.' His reply is hoarse and slightly unsteady, and the tone of his voice makes the nerve endings in Matt's chest seem to crackle with sparks. Frank's kneeling over his body, his knees pressed against Matt's hips. Something between a moan and a gasp slips from his throat as Frank's callused fingers slide down the side of his face, brushing over his split lip. Matt digs his fingers into the bunched muscles of Frank's back, arching up to brush their chests together and pulling the tip of Frank's index finger into his mouth. There's a stutter in Frank's heartbeat and a stifled moan in his ear, and Frank's other hand is gripping his upper arm tightly enough to leave bruises. Frank pulls his finger from Matt's mouth.

'Murdock-' he begins, his voice raspy, but then he pauses and Matt wraps his hand around the back of his neck and pulls him into a rough kiss. There's still blood on Frank's face, and his lip is still bleeding, there's blood everywhere, and okay, that's a bit weird, but Matt is no stranger to blood and he has a feeling that both he and Frank have been way past normal for a long time now. Matt runs his hand up Frank's cheek, over his nose, his eyebrows- there's a scar running through Frank's eyebrow that Matt thinks might have been inflicted by him, but he can't remember. Frank's hand is wrapped loosely around his shoulder, the other braced beside Matt's head, keeping him held up.

Matt has a sudden urge to knock that hand away and bring Frank tumbling down to press against him, but Frank does that himself, lowering his body until they're pressed chest to chest. His mouth is back against Matt's neck, a quick bite of teeth and suction, and then Frank's weight is gone and he's standing nearly on the other side of the roof, breathing hard, keeping his back to Matt. Matt props himself up on his elbows. He still can't seem to breathe properly himself, and he can still taste Frank in his mouth, blood and sweat. His blood is rushing in his ears and he can barely hear himself as he chokes out the question 'Castle, what was that?', but Frank's reply is clear as day.

'I think they call it a hickey,' he says gruffly, and Matt half laughs and half moans, thinking about Frank's lips on his neck again, but Frank's already over the side of the roof, boots ringing like bells on the fire escape, and by the time Matt gets to the top of the steps, Frank is already on the ground and headed away. He pauses briefly when Matt yells, from the top of the building 'Hey, Castle! You know another name for hickey is 'love bite', right?' and even though Frank is too far away for his to get a clear sonic sense of his facial expression, Matt has a feeling that it's a mix of irritation and amusement.

Then he's left alone on a rooftop, the sounds of Hell's Kitchen ringing in his ears, adjusting his pants awkwardly and wiping blood off of his face. And honestly, he thinks, as distraction tactics go, that wasn't a bad one on Frank's part. But he's still going to find Johnny Lawrence before the Punisher does. With that thought in mind, he's up and running.


End file.
